Late Blossoms
by The Jolliest Roger
Summary: Enchanted Forest AU. Emma, a thief escaped from Her Majesty's dungeon, strikes a deal with one notorious Captain Hook to find something they both need. Unfortunately, a crew playing matchmaker, adventures and fitting personalities weren't taken into account. Are late blossoms really the most beautiful? Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Of shirts and pirates and home

_Perhaps _she should have thought this through a bit more.

Accepting the offer for an alliance from a pirate captain and getting on his ship for a journey of unknown length was one thing. Jumping on said ship with only the clothes on her back was another thing _entirely_, one she's almost starting to regret now.

She is tying her belt over the black shirt she's been given - the _Captain's_ shirt she has been borrowing ever since she received a nasty gash on her flank while boarding a Navy ship.

(Her torn and bloodied tunic is probably still in his cabin) (If she hadn't already trusted him, the way he took care of her wound without commenting on the scar on her back marking her as the Queen's property would have probably done her in)

Back to the problem at hand, his shirt is too big on her, and warm as it may be, it doesn't do much in the way of staying in place and keeping her covered, not when she's on a ship in the middle of the ocean and determined to pull her weight climbing up and down the riggings. It doesn't do much for the trembling inside her chest whenever she pulls it over her head either (this _intimacy_ that comes with wearing a man's clothes, it's _new_and untainted with memories of another time and another man, memories of betrayal and chains around her wrists as she lost everything), and its softness and faint smell of him aren't helping the case. (It would be easier if his crew had made lewd remarks when they first saw her in it, if they didn't look at her as if she means more than business to their captain. As if she will _stay _with them)

And his eyes shouldn't be so bright and open when she joins him at the helm with a bread roll because the cook said he hadn't had breakfast with them _either _(Emma should have punched him or something for the very exaggerated emphasis and very obvious meaning behind his words, but then again, the cook is the same one that prepared her an infusion when she got seasick on her first days on board) (the Emma they met at port would have rewarded him with a kick to the shin) (they _have_ to stop making her wish to stay)

Also, their deal didn't include her having rum with them at night, being taught their sea shanties, learning the names to every star she sees on the clear nights on deck (learning later that old Stark made up many on the spot just to satisfy her curiosity)

And yet, she is the one to tug him from his place at the helm when he is practically swaying from exhaustion but too goddamn stubborn to retire for the day, his night shifts somehow managing to last the entire night instead of the few hours everyone else's do (she will guide him to his cabin and tug his coat and boots off and he will collapse on the bed and snore softly almost immediately, the obstinate idiot)

And when the tables finally turn and it is her cleaning the gunshot on his shoulder, when she convinces him to take off the brace on his left arm with a soft touch and a meaningful look (_trust me_), when she grazes his scarred wrist with the back of her knuckles and gets him to lie on the bed with his head on her lap while she combs her fingers through his hair until he dozes off, well, she'll admit to have planned a little detour to get another rare artifact.

(_just a few more months)_ (she isn't ready to give this up just yet)


	2. A scarf and a glass of rum

It's a sunny and clear day when they make port again. The firm cobblestones feel somewhat strange under her feet, but she has spent many years running and sleeping on them, so the sensation doesn't last for long. Besides, the town is covered in shades of auburn and gold, flags and banderoles hanging from ropes tended from window to window, and the not so distant sound of a string and wind band announces the presence of a local fair. Killian laughs delighted at the child-like excitement on her face (how did it even get there, she has no idea) and hands her a little leather pouch half-filled with silver coins (_"Your share of the treasure love"_), ignoring her protests that she is not part of his crew (she _isn't_) before steering her in the direction of the festival.

Her objections dissolve on her tongue as they approach the first stalls. It's actually been long since she last could stroll leisurely through a market (street rats don't really make for good customers in the eyes of the merchants, and she more often than not got to see their broomsticks instead of their goods) so she lets herself listen to his persuasive words (_"C'mon love, I know you'd prefer to explore than pickpocket your way through the crowd")_

(She would)

(The clinking of the pouch tied to her belt makes her feel good, and she thinks he might understand)

So she approaches a stand filled with different kinds of cheese and when the woman on the other side of the table offers her a slice with a smile she reciprocates and takes it before moving on to the next, and the next, and the next. Slowly but surely, she has a look at what each and every stall has to offer, from books (she flips through one about a girl and a rabbit, until she comes across a mad queen and her soulless soldiers and she puts it down. When she turns around Killian is there, handing her a little atlas he has just purchased) (his hook nudges her hip as they turn to the next stand and she forgets the book and the memories it stirs) to the much needed clothing (her new blouses are as soft as Killian's, but she has the feeling she will miss the black fabric anyway)

When they encounter a merchant selling scarves she insists on buying him one to replace the piece he used to clean her wound (_"Winter is coming and you spend half your nights on deck"_).

They end up buying two. (_"Well lass, then _you _could use one too"_)

(She won't ever acknowledge the knowing giggle of the merchant's wife)

Smee finds them while they are observing the work of a rather talented tattoo artist. As the man finishes the order (the skull and bones are really over-used, but apparently sailors believe they will protect them, or so Killian tells her) the first mate informs his captain that supplies are being delivered to the Jolly, and that the crewmen have already made themselves at home at the local tavern. They leave to join them at Rosewater's inn (_"forty years in the business" _claims the old lady at the reception desk with a proud grin. She gives Killian and her adjoining rooms without anyone telling her, so perhaps there's a reason they are successful) (not that Emma can't defend herself perfectly, but as Killian told her as he showed her her individual room on the ship, he rather fears for anyone fool enough to try and sneak on her) (as if the crew would try anything like that, hasn't he noticed that their strangely good behavior makes up half her dilemma?).

Everyone is having dinner by the time they arrange rooms for all them and she ends sat between the captain and the wall with Smee in front of them recounting some of their most impressive adventures. She laughs as she drinks her ale and perhaps she leans more fully against Killian's side as the nights wears on, and perhaps his hand lands on her thigh when he is making a point - he makes many when he is rum-inspired and as merry as now - but well, her hands land on his leg too when she burst out laughing, and pirate rum makes her a happy drunk instead of the broody sort she used to be, so there's that.

For the first time there's a bed under her on her first night in a foreign town, and she can't bring herself to regret the almost-impossible hunt for a magical compass that has brought her here.


	3. The maps and the stories

The Jolly is surrounded by a thick mist that blends in perfectly with her mood. She has been fuming all morning, her back to the foremast and her legs firmly clasped to her chest, with her arms around her knees forming a last barrier between her and the world. (it used to be like this every day she spent in the dungeons) (she hadn't thought she'd need this weak attempt at protection since she came aboard, the beautifully colored wood planks on the flanks of the ship making up some sort of impenetrable fortress)

And she feels stupid.

Goddamnit, she is literally _caged_ here. (he should know better than that) (she _thought _ he knew better than that) (god, she's so stupid)

They decided to change their course to approach this port last time they were on land, a retired historian that could make their task easier with his knowledge on the fate of lost royal treasures said to have fixed his residence here. And now Killian won't _let_ her get off the ship. In fact, he's already left with three of his men - Smee and two burly sailors with his big cutlass and non-existent glib who are _clearly_ of more use than her when talking to an educated ex-courtesan - right after mooring the Jolly a good and un-swimmable distance from port and taken the only boat with them.

And she might be quiet now, but as soon as he comes back she's giving him a (very angry) piece of her mind and then she's going to call off this arrangement and leave. He doesn't have any power over her, and she won't be kept here by force. (She will jump overboard if necessary, same way she fought the Dark Knights back in the day. She is _free_, goddamnit, and he is not taking that from her)

The crewmen are wise enough not to come near her. At least not until lunchtime comes and goes and she stays in her chosen spot to seethe. Then Stark (they know she has a soft spot for him since the night of stargazing, clever guys) ventures into her self-proclaimed domain with a bowl of stew in his hand (her favourite one at that. She's going to _throttle_Cook) and sits beside her without a word, and no amount of silent treatment will make him get the hint that she doesn't want the company.

The skies are starting to tinge with pink and orange as the sun comes down by the time he opens his mouth - _"It's been years since I had seen this bay, ye ken lass?" - _and engages her in a conversation (more of a monologue, for all that she contributes to it) about joining a Navy-turned-pirate crew down at the Southern Islands, about sailing with them for half a year before docking in this same town, about a warrant for treason on the Captain's head and a squad of soldiers under King George's orders cutting off his hand before his execution - execution thwarted by his crew (_"but not bloody soon enough, lass. We weren't fast_ _enough"_) before they fled to the high seas and patched him up.

-/-

Stark's words still ring in her head when Killian and the others return - well into the night - and he finds her in his room, sitting at the desk with the atlas he bought open in front of her. He sighs and takes off his coat before facing her with his arms cross over his chest in a protective manner. (It makes a weight bear down on her breastbone, seeing him shielding himself the same way she has spent good part of the day doing). She nears him slowly, reaching for the brace on his left arm, unbuckling the straps and taking it off with the silver hook still attached to it.

Taking a page from Stark's book, she addresses the elephant in the room casually.

"Did you find him?"

"Aye. Gave us a few notes. You can look at them if you wish to"

She hums noncommittally and trails her fingertips over the scarred lines he's had for a little over three years, wondering if he has screamed too much or spoken too little in the last hours to have his voice as rough and low as it is now.

"I could have gone and heard from the man himself too"

"I know. Couldn't risk it though, love." He doesn't elaborate, but she won't let it go like that. If she really is to stay, she needs to understand (she owes it to herself, not to be fooled again by a tragic story and one "I know best")

"I hadn't pegged you for the kind of man to mutiny against his country, Captain. Neither for one to believe he owns me" He shakes his head fractionally, one corner of his mouth coming up for a second in a poor resemblance of his usual mirth.

"Been tattling with the crew, have you?" Levity leaves him as his shoulders hunch forward "I know I can't own you love. No one ever could" (her fingers clench a bit tighter on his forearm - she remembers one person who definitely tried) "But I'll be damned if that bloody disgrace of a king gets his hands on you" his hand rises to gripe hers in his vehemence "and I would do it all again a thousand times over if it kept you from ever meeting that monster" She's heard the story from his crewman only a few hours ago, but something doesn't add up, this passion and desperation in his eyes and in his tone.

"Because he cut off your hand"

"Because he sent us to my brother's _death"_the anguish finally breaks through and his voice shakes and strains as he recalls a feathered sail and an island that hid lethal thorns and devious demons; breaking his vow and devoting himself to avenging the death of the only family he had left; losing his composure at the prospect of history repeating itself with her in the picture.

The weight inside her ribcage grows, taking up space in her throat and making her eyes sting without tears (thank the gods for small favours) and she winds her free arm over his shoulder, resting her cheek against his while she waits for the turmoil inside him to calm down.

"You're an idiot" (no one said this means she isn't still mad)

"What?"

Distancing their torsos so she can look into his eyes, she arches an eyebrow. "You're an idiot. You contacted me to help you find the artifacts needed to get into King George's magically protected castle and get revenge. I'm going into his fucking castle Killian, I'm getting near him anyway."

He manages to look chastised and bashful at the same time, and his fingers twitch on her hip.

"Sorry to disappoint love, but I don't think I can't follow through with our original arrangement, for reasons I have made obvious in a mostly crude way" A frown appeared in his brow "I apologize for leaving you stranded here. I didn't consider things much further than keeping you out of town"

She sighs and ponders everything he's told her. She knows the man can be impulsive and reckless (there's still a rounded bullet scar on his shoulder to remind them), but she also knows that he cares about her opinions and this is the first time he has disregarded them.

"I was sold to Regina by someone I trusted. He took me directly to an ambush. I never go - or stay - somewhere I don't want to anymore" He nods at her warning and she feels satisfied - mostly at least. "So you can make it up to me teaching me how to plan the courses"

His eyes widen ever so slightly, and she is further pleased that she can take him always by surprise. Especially when his features form that mischievous smile she has grown to associate with their banter. "Well Swan, I see you cartography lessons and raise you manning the helm lessons."

Her grin feels finally natural as she gets into his space "You drive a hard bargain Captain"

"Pirate, love" His hand and hook meet at the small of her back as his arms encircle her waist, and if either of them were to move forward, their foreheads would rest together too. She enjoys the position for a moment, soaking up in his warmth before stepping away, flashing him an impish smile and going to retrieve the atlas from his desk.

"Good. You can start now"


	4. The heat of this dessert

Emma has to say, there's very little that can compare to standing at the crow's nest as far as excitement goes.

Perhaps a good fight, or a successful raid, but they lack this peace she feels at having the horizon extend all around her, the sails billowing at their fullest right under her feet, the same gusts that fill them whipping her hair in every direction.

It's a new habit of hers, climbing up the main mast to relieve Zephyr from his usual post. His dark almond-shaped eyes are definitely sharper than hers, and he doesn't have this tendency to lose track of things up here like she does, forgetting that she's actually supposed to look for ships or threats, but so far she hasn't got them into any battle by accident, so there's that.

(Even so, she knows he might dedicate himself to other tasks on deck, but he keeps an eye on the horizon, so that surprise attack wouldn't be much of a surprise anyway)

Her interest got piqued the night not two weeks ago when he regaled her with tales of his motherland and what it's like to see all the world from 90 feet above. "Flying means loving the wind" he told her, and she understands it now. That he would give up this feeling for her, even if only for a few hours, astounds her, and she has taken to chatting with him over dinner -which_is_ saying a lot, because their circle - initially composed of her and Killian - keeps getting larger and larger every night, and now practically half the crew use their dinner time to try and engage her in their most pirate-y activities, from knife throwing to their absolute favourite who-can-tie-the-most-difficult-to-untie-knot competition. (It's their favourite because they use her as the measure) (She _knows_there are bets on how long it will take her each time)

She's mulling over asking Killian if they can visit Agrabah anytime soon (Zephyr would love that, surely) while she clambers down the riggings to join him at the helm. She gives Zephyr a nod of gratitude when she passes him by on her way to the captain, and his answering grin makes her feel good.

(Showing emotions of any kind is a weakness when you live on the streets, she knows this, but apparently that rules don't apply to life on a ship, and that makes the smooth wooden planks look even more of home in her eyes, and isn't that a dangerous thought?)

Killian has been picking a few new habits too. He steps aside every time she approaches him at the helm and tugs her in front of him for a steering lesson.

(They use this time to talk, his voice a comforting vibration against her back while he explains terms and techniques and she teases the formal and serious way he takes her education until they lose their train of thought and end up conversing about everything and anything)

In the evening they retire to his cabin before dinner, where he teaches her to read maps and to devise the best courses and routes (that's how she knows they could take a little detour and visit Zephyr's homeland, and besides, it's supposed to be a place of wizards and enchantress, surely they can gather some useful information, right?) before dinner.

He started to make good on his word the very first night he made it, joining her before the atlas and answering her questions, first about their current destination and plan and then about all the foreign lands depicted throughout the detailed pages.

(She had many, and they ended sitting on his bed and falling asleep mid-explanation)

(The Captain's bed feels as good as it looks like)

(She really, _really_ should stop giving Cook ammunition against her, the complete gossip that he is)

-/-

Killian agrees with her plan, and so a week later they are docking in the bustling port of Bewabh. There's people everywhere, carrying their merchandise and shouting orders, probably a few foul words too (that's a universal language, she has come to learn). The saltiness of the sea mixes with the sharp scent that permeates the air, and as she takes a deep breath of it into her lungs, Zephyr's smile at her only makes her feel more alive. She watches as he rushes down the plank with apparently a clear destination in mind and she can't wait to follow his steps into the exotic town in front of her. But first she has to wait for a certain captain with a penchant for bargaining with the harbour master the price of their stay, and she knows with only a glance that it may take some time, it's clear that both men are having a good time of their battle of wits and manliness, so she goes below deck to her private cabin. Opening her clothes chest she examines her ever growing collection of tunics.

(It's become somewhat of a tradition for her, buying one every time they encounter a market on their land leaves. She enjoys the different colourings and fabrics, and when this adventure ends she will have something to remember every moment by)

(The chemises don't bunch under her fists when she thinks about her possible departure) (they _don't_)

She picks up a deep green one that she deems it's probably the thinnest one she has, even a bit see-through, but she's not coping with a vest in this heat. Her hair braided and her cutlass on her hip (you never know with the local population) she emerges again on deck to find Killian shaking hands with a satisfied looking harbormaster that greets her with a little head bow before leaving the ship.

Killian smiles at her and extends a hand towards one of hers to lift it to his mouth.

"Ready love?" She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. She gave up on the battle of his pet names a long time ago.

"Always _Captain_"

-/-

The unique mingling of scents gets even more intense as they penetrate into the streets of Bewabh. Unfortunately, so does the heat, and with the sun beating down on them it becomes apparent that her choice of clothes is something she will be congratulating herself on for the next couple of days. She may be sweating still, but it's nothing compared to what Killian must be feeling under all that black leather.

They have headed back to the docks, where the sea breeze will hopefully keep the temperature a bit more bearable. Only, the market that was being set when they disembarked is now packed to the brim. Quite literally; Emma can't even see the paths between the stands, only a compact mass of people, goats and what appears to be a humped…_something_, pushing and shouting over each other.

She can feel herself suffocating just watching them - she is so no buying a memento from this particular market it seems. But to her right she can feel Killian breathing a bit too laboriously for her liking, and well, that she _can_ steer the ship now doesn't mean she doesn't want him to still be there to do it, so she grabs the curve of his hook (it's almost hot to the touch too, and if her brain was traitorous enough, it might whisper that this way it matches the rest of him. And it _is_, but it only takes a mild effort to keep a straight face and not burst into laughing because really, it has been too long since she's had these teenager thoughts) and drags him to a stall just on the edge of the crowd that has a fabric tended over it to shade them from the sun and, if she has spied correctly, some juicy fruits that may be enough to keep her pirate conscious.

"Lass, you have to stop grabbing the hook in public. It's supposed be a menacing weapon."

Her pirate that won't let even stifling heat deter him from being an idiot, because A: she knows that he likes her treating his hook with familiarity and B: he knows she knows.

"Stop complaining Captain, no one finds it threatening anymore" She stops before the selling woman and takes two big rounded fruits in her hands, pondering them before giving one to Killian and some coins to the merchant. "Unless they are coconuts" she teases. It's impossible to take the hook as a serious threat when one has seen the pirate use it to open coconuts for her. Not so much because she finds it amusing (which, well, having the feared captain use his namesake to quell her thirst _is_somewhat humorous) but because he is as functional with it as he'd be with a hand. If he hurts anyone with it, it won't be by accident, and she knows he would never turn it on her.

Her point is further proven when he slices the fruit in bitable pieces with the metal appendage. "Coconuts or - sorry, what are they called?" The last bit is directed at the woman, who is still looking at them from behind the counter with amicable curiosity. "Mangos. This is your first time in Agrabah, isn't it?"

"Yeah. What gave us away? Captain mango's almost heat stroke?" Killian's indignant sputtering is drown by the merchant's laugh, and Emma smiles at him as she bites her own fruit, only to lose herself in inner thanks to whatever deity that created these mangos things, because she has never tasted anything so sweet and refreshing. She comes back to reality when the woman speaks again in her soft, unidentifiable accent (many seaside town inhabitants have this same undefined timbre, the product of treating with so many people from all over the seven seas, and Emma has grown to love the shared cadence, the orphan in her feeling at home amongst the citizens of nowhere and everywhere that somehow manage to match across the seas)

"You two have the faces of someone that has been wandering too much under the midday sun. Well," she side eyes Killian's flushed cheeks "one more than the other. You should get indoors" When her words are only met with blank stares, she sighs.

"See that street back there? Follow it to a square with a fountain. There is a house with a blue çdoorjamb. Tell the woman there - her name is Aneesa by the way - that Hidayah sends you."

-/-

Aneesa, it turns out, is Hidayah's cousin and a gracious host if there ever was one. One look at their most definitely not dessert-friendly selves and she's ushering them into a blessedly fresh room, bringing a tea set and leaving them with an exasperated sigh, as if dehydrated pirates is something she has to deal with any other weekday.

Emma doesn't waste any time making herself at home amongst the many cushions that cover the floor, laying spread over as many of them as she can manage, while Killian looks around their surroundings with a wary eye. After a few minutes of his nonsense she huffs and works up the will to leave her nest of softness and silk, grabbing his hand and yanking him down to her side.

"What's the matter Captain? Too much tapestry for your liking?" When her jeer is met only with a quizzical stare instead of the banter he has her used to, she decides that as much as he denies it, the heat has definitely gotten to him. She thrusts a cup of tea in front of him, and when he fails to take it quickly enough she just closes his fingers around it herself like one would a distracted enfant before flopping back down to the cushions she's already planning on asking Aneesa about - her navigation lessons imply a lot of heavy reading, and her bed could do with one or two of these soft miracles.

Killian, on the other hand, stays upright as he sips and stares at her prone form.

"You surprise me Swan."

"Hmm, do tell." She stretches her arms above her head until she hears the satisfying pop of a job well done, and spies a small appreciative smile on his lips he half-hides behind the rim of the cup. A job well done indeed.

"The first time we visited an inn together I believe you checked at least two escape routes before entering any room - not that you didn't do it discreetly love, I'm sure the enchanting Ms. Fitz didn't notice - and now here you are, all relaxed and tempting". His foot taps her leg playfully. "Pray tell my dear Swan, is this all a charade and you do in fact know our hostess?"

Her shoulders move in a careless shrug as she reaches for her own drink. "There's nothing wrong with having my options covered. Besides, I'm armed, you're armed, there's a window over there and this is just a second floor. We're good." Her lips stretch in a lazy smirk, as so often happens when she's messing with him, and she loves this camaraderie, this banter of theirs and his smile when she plays back. "Why? Would you like me to check the corners for monsters for you?"

"_Au contraire_ love. I find your confidence rather enrapturing. Although," He pauses for effect, this melodramatic idiot of a pirate she has found herself accompanying on a mad mission, with his love of big words and his good-natured jibes, and the calming presence that makes her feel safe anywhere these days. If only their mission stopped feeling less and less urgent every day, if only she wasn't learning to enjoy the journey almost as much as she was convinced she would relish their success, she might still want to get this done and over with as quickly as possible. "there _is_ something to be said about the allure of a woman ready to take on an enemy at any moment." His hand traces a light pace from her ribcage to her hip, patting the handle of her dagger with a proud smile, and yeah, _this_ is another fair reason to want more time with him.

"Why, thank you, Jones. Whatever would you do without me to get you out of these dead-ends?"

Just a heartbeat and a conspiratorial smile later they are settling deeper into the cushions for one of their favourite pastimes: out-scheming one another out of imaginary near death experiences.

(Out-running things is his forte, and navigating tricky indoors is hers, and honestly, whoever is on charge of laying out clues so she hauls ass and gets this job done instead of gallivanting off into the sunset should stop pairing her with a man with whom she could take over the world.)

(The only signals she's receiving are a bunch of real, honest-to-God, _fair_ reasons to pillage and plunder away her days.)


End file.
